


and everything under the sun

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Pining, Post-Episode AU: s01e05 Epiphany, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, Trope Bingo Round 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: After Ben almost drowns he can’t get warm again.





	and everything under the sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill on my Trope Bingo [card](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/30129.html) for the Wild Card square, in which I chose Huddle for Warmth. I was thinking about THAT Season 1 episode and Ben being cold and THIS happened. Oh well. 
> 
> Also, I found [this](http://www.blackrockhistory.org/letters-of-caleb-brewster/) amazing website which houses some real life letters between Caleb and Washington.

 

Caleb had noticed and dreaded a change in Ben not long after he had fallen into the deathly cold waters of the Delaware River.

It had been weeks, not days, and Caleb’s sharp, prying eyes would take note of how Ben would overdress, noticeably shiver at odd moments and genuinely appear miserable when he believed no one was paying attention.

But  _Caleb_ was paying attention. 

And as Caleb trudged through the many days pondering over Ben’s strange behavior, his strained concentration and his abject discomfort, he realized he had had  _enough._ An extra coat that Caleb would sneak into his line of sight anytime he could spare it had proved a temporary peace of mind, but whatever this was Ben wasn’t shaking it off. Every once in a great while things would come to a point such as this: Benny wouldn’t be able to keep his thoughts so thoroughly tucked away from Caleb’s searching gaze, he would have to  _talk_ to Caleb, dreaded as that was for him. He’d have to lay bare whatever troubles plagued him and Caleb would offer some tidbit that had never occurred to him before, greatly lessening the weight on his friend’s mind without even really trying. 

Maybe that was part of the reason they had kept close together their whole lives: they helped each other through anything and everything, knew each other better than anyone else ever could, were intimately knowledgeable of the evils that fed on their respective minds: the hidden doubts, the hollow certainties, the paralyzing fears. Their need for companionship could only be so entirely filled by the other.

It was Caleb’s duty then, now, to snap him out of it, to make him see sense, so to speak.

To cut down whatever evil paralyzed him now.

Ben had taken to staying up far into the quiet, just barely spring-touched nights, huddling near the embers of dying fires. The fire was down to its bare, crumbling bones tonight and still Ben lingered, seeming to soak up every ounce of warmth and courage he could. The very sight of him, hunched and small and almost like a child again, made Caleb want to wrap his arms around him if it meant he could ease Ben’s discomfort even by several degrees. In his dreams it was a beautiful certainty, a balm to his often violent, unpredictable and certainly unavoidable waking hours, but Caleb had learned long ago not to confuse dreams with the ignorance, pettiness and cruelty of their real world.

His arms around his most treasured possession would not ever be mistaken for friendship, but only the worst possible conclusion.

And then Caleb would never have Ben again.

Brushing those aches aside and realizing the necessity of a sleepless night for himself, Caleb waited for the other men to finally retreat before approaching the pitiful figure before the fire. Not wanting to startle his friend, he made sure Ben knew he was approaching; even so, he failed to turn or make any sign that he knew he would not be alone this night.

Caleb eased himself down, stretching his hands out before the fire though not intending to catch any of its heat. Jagged and disjointed fragments of images,  _memories,_ came to him then, laid out on his chest like cannonballs and weighing down on his heart. Through the chaos, Caleb could make out just enough of what he longed not to remember. 

_Ben_ , unresponsive in his arms, not responding to desperate slaps to the cheek nor urgent, pleading words. Ben’s lips a worryingly blue, his skin five shades too pale, flesh painfully frigid to the touch and refusing to warm under Caleb’s hurried albeit careful ministrations. Ben, drifting away from him on an endless ocean for ages upon ages until a heartbeat stubbornly reappeared and sluggishly picked up in speed under Caleb’s palm, before eyelashes started fluttering in spite of eyes that just as stubbornly would not open for days more, before hope lit a flame in Caleb’s consciousness and shielded it from bitter winds, breathing renewed life into the both of them. 

Ben, held securely in his arms more often than not until Caleb didn’t want to relinquish his hold, couldn’t bear to give him to the cold, unyielding earth.

They were one, truly, and Caleb had known it, had breathed it in, had  _lived_ by it for nearly the entirety of his life, yet never minded it being reaffirmed. 

And now, like then, Caleb’s almost sole reason for existence was pulling away, discreetly at first but then infinitely more surely, and Caleb’s heart started thundering maddeningly beneath a chest that was nearly caved in.

He’d been through too much in those days where Ben had hovered between life and death, between waking and eternally sleeping, between his curious, bright eyes greeting Caleb again and his cold, motionless body never to move again. He needed to know that Ben could go back to normal after it all so that  _he_ could too. 

“Hold on a sec, Tallboy,” Caleb urged, resting a firm hand on his best friend’s arm. Benny jerked in response, eyes fearful and wide as they met Caleb’s own soft and worried ones. He had let this go on for far too long. If Ben had noticed something was wrong with him, he would have acted long before this. They were best friends,  _brothers,_ and they’d  _always_ looked out for the other. 

Caleb had saved Ben from certain death, had dragged him from the icy prison of the Delaware and bundled him up in animal skins and practically breathed into his best friend’s mouth, coaxing him to breathe in tandem, to  _survive_ , to not leave Caleb out in that frozen wilderness with bloody hands and a hollow heart and a guilty,  _slaughtered_ conscience. 

And Ben had held on, just barely, as if he had sensed Caleb there and knew better than to slip away where Caleb couldn’t so easily follow.

Now that Caleb had done all that, with as much assurance and yet panic as he had the first time, now it seemed he had to stitch back together Ben’s emotional state as well.

“Caleb…,” Ben breathed, trembling hands cupped in Caleb’s own, softening bit by bit under Caleb’s unwaveringly gentle gaze. It wouldn’t do to spook Ben now. There were many times before where he’d had to push and push and push until Ben would cave, but cave he inevitably would, cracking under Caleb’s careful hold but never splintering, never too damaged to be patched up, silently, away from judgmental eyes.

“Time and time again, Benny,” he teased, “you do this to me. Don’t ya know by now that the only peace you’ll find is through me? I dragged your ass outta that river and I kept you breathin’ and  _still,_ there’s something keepin’ you there. My job ain’t done yet, apparently.”

“You owe me nothing, Caleb. This is my ill to deal with,  _not_ yours.” Ben pushed away from him, shutting down, barely near the fire now. Caleb stood, determined to make him listen, to make him crack just that little bit so that he could slip in under his defenses to understand and then repair the damage. Even with Ben’s forceful words, there was one person he could never entirely convince, one person he could never succeed in pushing away _._

He spoke with all the assurance he could muster. “And when will  _you_ learn, Benjamin Tallmadge, that you  _are_ my duty. My  _only_ duty. Why else would I be in this godforsaken wilderness, risking my life as I have done and keep on doin’, if it wasn’t all for ya?”

Ben’s startled expression spoke true volumes about his lingering state of mind, doubts more persistent than Caleb’s own ever were. “Don’t speak that way, Caleb. You are here for so much more than some mere childhood bond.  _We_ are here for so much more than that.”

Caleb crossed his arms and held his ground. “Am I?”

Sure, he may have been there for the excitement of working behind the scenes, of serving a purpose that felt true and good, but he’d never blindly followed Washington himself, only the cause he served, and he doubted that he’d still be here if not for Benny. He doubted he would have ended up here at all if not for  _Benny._

And he knew Benny understood that by the fear in his eyes, the grim acceptance, the relieved reciprocation he tried so hard to suppress.

Hands clenched slowly, fingers twitching and curling, the cold laying claim to Ben’s resolve as well. “Caleb, we… we cannot…”

“Tell me the truth, Benny, huh? The very  _least_ you can do is let me help ya. You take care of the General and  _I_ take care of you, or don’t you remember that deal we struck?” 

He could  _feel_ it, could sense Ben’s barriers crumbling, piece by piece, in the knowledge that Caleb wasn’t retreating anytime soon and that Ben didn’t  _really_ want to leave, to hide from Caleb for longer than he absolutely needed to for his own sanity. Childish petulance surfaced now, always Ben’s last source of defense. “I’m not some  _child_ you can take care of, Caleb.”

“No, you’re a Major who’s had his head up his ass for weeks now. So would ya let me help ya do  _your_ job so that I can sleep soundly again at night and do  _my_ job? Or do ya want that to suffer as well?”

There was no arguing after that, no sufficient comeback that wouldn’t make Ben sound like a fool and he  _knew_ that. So he caved, he went back to a time weeks ago that neither of them willingly wanted to go back to. 

Yet they were still there, the both of them, and they  _had_ to move past it. 

“I feel like…,” Ben broke off and Caleb noticed how pale his cheeks were and how his shivering seemed to be picking up in intensity. He stepped closer, his damned affection for Ben blinding him to all else. “I feel like I’ll never  _feel_ warm again,” Ben finished. Whittled down to a softer side of himself in sympathy and gratitude for Ben’s admission of weakness, Caleb wrapped a protective and hopefully warm arm around him, just one, more friendly and brotherly than anything suspicious, he hoped, damn anyone who might be watching them. 

“One step at a time, Benny,” he breathed, as close as he could manage, breath ghosting Ben’s cheek. “We’ll get you right again in no time.” A notion came to him then, a dangerous one though possibly the only course that could help Ben. “Do ya trust me? No matter what I say?”

Ben nodded and Caleb knew that he had resorted to desperate measures long before Caleb himself had offered them.

Caleb hummed in pleasure. “Good. Let’s go to your tent then and do something about it.”

Still, Benny was reluctant to leave his long warm and comfortable spot. “The fire…”

“The fire ain’t helping you any, Tallboy. You’ve been sitting in front of it for hours and it ain’t been doing ya no good, ya said it yourself. I think I have just the thing, but you’re gonna have to trust me.”

Caleb steered him away and Ben went with him easily this time. “Why do you keep asking me that, Caleb?” He wearily pressed, swiping a hand over his fatigued face. The dark circles under his damp eyes seemed to have intensified in the last few minutes since Caleb had found him; Caleb assumed that Ben’s constant efforts to keep warm had kept him from properly sleeping. Then again, he’d been unconscious for such a long time after what had happened, only feeding on Caleb’s fears, that he didn’t much blame Ben for avoiding sleep. “Of course I trust you.”

“I know ya do, it’s just… ya may feel a tad bit  _uncomfortable_ at the idea I have.”

Ben perked up at that, staring at Caleb in apt curiosity mixed with a healthy amount of uneasiness. “Will it get us thrown out of camp if we’re caught?”

Caleb thought about that for half a second. “…Maybe.”  _Worse,_ he couldn’t quite say out loud. He’d already resigned himself to this and he sure as rain wasn’t turning back now. 

Ben sighed, though he must have known he didn’t have much of a choice, for he murmured, “Lead the way.”

* * *

 

Amazingly, Ben had few protestations and weak ones at that. His desperation must have been so immense as to outweigh all his reservations, ones that Caleb had even carefully considered to come to the conclusion that they didn’t matter. Ben had been little more than a distracted, miserable, pitiable figure since his tumble into the Delaware and Caleb would take just about any risk to bring him back out of those waters for good this time.

He made the first move, stripping down to just his undergarments and hoping that Ben would follow his lead.

Instead, he glanced up to find Ben staring across the tent at him, barely heavily, eyes big and beautiful though as uncertain as Caleb had ever seen them. “Caleb,” he licked his lips, enough to warm Caleb’s own cold blood. “We can’t do this.”

“It’s the only thing we  _can_ do, Benny boy.”

Ben trusted him, trusted him enough to know that Caleb knew what he was doing, that he would never blindly lead Ben into any harm unless there was a perfectly good reason for it, an absolutely viable reason for it.

So he shed his boots and his double layer of socks, one coat and then the other and then his pants, all the way down to his own undergarments. Impatient and eager, the latter of which he had no right to be even though he’d hadn’t lain with Ben for many a month, Caleb didn’t press for more. He eased himself into Ben’s bed, patting the small, tight, empty space beside him. “In you get now, ‘fore I change my mind.”

“As long as I’m not taking advantage of you, Caleb.”

His heart warmed, fingers brushing Ben’s own from where he stood, unsure, before the bed. “You could  _never_ do that, Tallboy, not even if you tried. Come on now, can’t have ya catching your death of chill when you’ve got a warm bed and someone entirely at your beck and call.”

Ben smiled then, soft and pleased, easily sliding into Caleb’s arms just like always, no tension or shyness between them, just trust and love and anticipation, even if the latter was merely a night spent alone together and nothing more. They hadn’t many nights like this since they were mere children, responsible for nothing save themselves, though they always made sure to make each moment count.

Caleb got to work immediately, rubbing Ben’s bowed back and chilled, aching shoulders; brushing back his unruly hair, wrapping golden strands around his fingers; and peppering his forehead, cheeks and chin with small, chaste kisses. While Ben returned his attentions wholeheartedly, it wasn’t long until he was slipping into the merciful arms of sleep. Ben warmed and continued to warm while in his care, rather from skin-to-skin contact or unbridled happiness or  _both_ and there was something incredibly heady in that, knowing how much he could pleasure his Benny, how at home and at peace he could make him feel, without any effort at all…

And then the sound of a flap opening startled Caleb enough to glance up.

General Washington stood there, at the opening, not much more than a towering, imposing shadow, eyes blazing, stance guarded, hovering for no more than several seconds before slipping away nearly as quietly as he had come.

Caleb’s veins flooded with  _ice._

It took several long moments for his feet to move, moments he couldn’t afford, but when he finally broke through the nearly impenetrable barrier of disbelief and dread, he practically fell off the bed, threw on the minimal amount of clothes necessary and finally raced outside the tent after the one man - their General no less - who would ultimately doom them.

Miraculously, he hadn’t yet made it to his tent.

“General Washington!” Caleb cried, a loud whisper as he tried to keep his voice low, knowing he could not afford to attract anyone else’s attention. In his incredible relief the General turned, eyebrow raised in anticipation of explanation. “It wasn’t what you think, Sir,” Caleb tried desperately, stumbling over the words like a child. He needed to do better, for Ben. “Ben… the  _Major’s_ just been having a hard time getting warm and I had an idea is all, Sir. We weren’t doing anything…  _inappropriate_ . I just… I’m trying to help him.”

They had been dressed after all, marginally, though Caleb prayed it would be the detail that spared them.

Even so, Caleb knew that Washington  _knew_ . He couldn’t explain  _how_ he knew exactly, but he had caught the look on Washington’s face just before he had turned and walked out. The entire scene had been too quick and thus, mostly unreadable to Caleb, but there had been realization there, a far advancement over the numb shock and disgust that should have dominated the man. 

Then again, this was their General; if a man such as he could be so overruled, so  _blinded_ by base emotions then he would not be their General. 

No, Washington was levelheaded, and he was no fool; Ben knew there was nothing he could say that would convince him otherwise.

It was the longest pause of Caleb’s life, the night surrounding them so maddeningly quiet he was nearly paralyzed, certain it would erupt in gunshots at any moment, gunshots and insults and screams, fingers pointing at him and at Ben’s tent, labeling them, betraying them, sentencing them to death. The inevitability held Caleb’s breath, suspended, in his dry throat. It made him wonder just how cruel their General could be, to leave him hanging like this, to stretch the seconds out into an  _agonizing_ eternity of an uncertainty so dreadful it felt like  _buckets_ of freezing water being poured relentlessly over him. 

Finally, Washington shifted. His boots made the smallest noise as they tread several feet nearer to Caleb. He studied the man, harder than he’d ever studied anyone in his life, except maybe for Ben. He didn’t see any measure of revulsion there, didn’t see disappointment or determination, but he didn’t doubt that the General could be a master of deception when he wanted to be, when it  _suited_ him. 

Instead, Washington just looked tired. Worried and tired.

And his impending words could either be Caleb’s salvation or his damnation.

“It’s alright, Lieutenant Brewster.”  _We’ll get Ben well again and_ then  _the two of you will be hanged._ “There is no fear or shame to be felt.” Caleb’s throat cleared and oxygen flooded back into his lungs, leading him to cough awkwardly, but the realization that he was safe didn’t filter in quite yet, not until, “May I ask if it’s working?”

“Sir?” He stood there, struck dumb, and then he realized that Washington was expecting an answer and that Washington wasn’t going to turn them in and that Washington was only concerned about Ben like he didn’t care about his obviously having lain with Caleb, like it wasn’t illegal and a blatant sin and like he wasn’t disgusted by it like any other man would be.  _Answer, Caleb. Don’t make this stranger than it has to be. He’s worried about Benny. You’ve dodged a bullet. Get over it already and let him help Benny._ “Oh… the body heat, um… I don’t know yet. I’ve only just tried, shortly before you… It’s worked in the past,” he blurted. 

Washington’s brow quirked again, though he seemed more curious then demanding of an explanation. Caleb still offered him one, knowing he’d never stop owing the General. “Ben fell into a lake in winter when we was little. We were lost in the woods.” Caleb bit down on his lip in shame. “And that was my fault. Blankets I had weren’t workin’, so I wondered if I’d be able to warm him.”

The General appeared impressed and even deeply moved. “That was incredibly brave of you, Lieutenant. Most children would not think to try such a thing, and even fewer would be willing to attempt it.”

“I’d never let my best friend die if there was something I could do about it,” Caleb argued fiercely. “He would have done the same for me.”

There was a flicker of something across Washington’s face, something so incredibly human it drew Caleb off his guard. “It never ceases to amaze me, how strong the bond is the two of you share. It has gotten the both of you out of many troubling and dangerous situations, I am sure.” His tone sounded almost teasing, but Caleb’s emotions were all over the place and he dared not read further into anything - especially concerning the General - tonight.

Besides, he needed to get back to Ben.

Washington, thoughts no doubt a mirror of his own, took another step nearer. “Do you imagine that Ben would mind a third occupant in his tent?”

He almost dared not speak for fear of Washington changing his mind, realizing the danger Caleb and Ben were subjecting him to. “Sir?”

But nothing shifted in Washington’s expression, nothing convinced Ben that the General would turn on a whim and call for his soldiers. “Might I join the two of you? Do you think it could help the Major?”

Caleb’s stomach plummeted to the ground in response. “I… I, yes, General. Perhaps. I don’t wish to cause you any trouble though, Sir.”

Washington strode toward Ben’s tent and Caleb rushed after him, watching him remove his hat and gloves just before he stepped inside. “No trouble at all, Lieutenant. Ben is my responsibility. Maybe not as much as he is yours and you are his, but I wish to see him at full health again and if I can aid in any…,” he broke off and drew in a slightly shaky breath and Caleb’s eyes widened in amazement.

Ben was always so sure the General cared nothing for him. It was clear by the existence of that one harsh, stuttering breath that that wasn’t the truth.

Washington was already standing over Ben, who was still sleeping, gazing down at him in concern when Caleb came back to himself. The stare that penetrated him was uncertain. “How should we do this? Should I take one side and you the other?”

Caleb nodded, barely trusting the sound of his voice. Even so, he squeezed out, “Thank you, General Washington. Truly.”

Washington held up a hand to hush him and then slipped underneath the blanket, fully clothed, pressing himself tightly to Ben’s back. Ben shifted in his sleep, emitting a breathy whimper, brow creasing in what Caleb hoped was just chills and not a nightmare. He longed to smooth his fingers over that brow, no longer needing to hide from Washington’s searching eyes, but Caleb could still taste the fear in the back of his throat.

Just because Washington accepted them didn’t mean he wouldn’t one day do his duty and turn them in.

Caleb stripped himself again quickly, uncaring of modesty in the face of necessity, and settled himself against Ben’s front, their bellies and chests brushing. He dared to shift closer when Washington began running a gentle hand up and down Ben’s exposed arm.

He breathed shakily, gazing down at Ben uncertainly.  _Oh boy, Benny. If only you could be awake for_ this. 

It was going to be a  _long_ night.

* * *

 

When Caleb woke, murmured voices almost lulled him back to sleep; however, curious, his eyes peeled open and he nearly recoiled in shock from the sight before him.

Ben looked _well_ again, a healthy flush of heat to his cheeks now, stretched out under the blankets and _smiling_ up at Washington, whose fingers were trailing idly down Benny’s, _his_ Benny’s arm. For Caleb, all of it was a potent mix of possessiveness and shame and still _fear_ , a fear that had plagued him all night that they would all be caught and hung for this. 

Mostly Caleb was livid: livid that Ben hadn’t told him, livid that Washington hadn’t seen fit to give him  _some_ hint and instead had played a part that was  _false_ all night long, livid that he had foolishly believed that Washington was about to string the both of them up for  _sodomy._

Ben finally noticed that Caleb was awake, his smile as soft as it had been for Washington. “Hey, Caleb.” He reached out, trying to grasp his hand, but Caleb wasn’t having it and he didn’t bother to hide the hurt and the rage in his eyes.

Ben, at least, had the decency to turn his head away in shame and regret.

“How could neither of you  _tell_ me?” Caleb demanded, fighting to keep his voice low, knowing full well there were soldiers either directly outside or at least very close by. 

Washington smoothed a hand over Ben’s hair,  _Ben_ , who Caleb had made upset and who thank all that was good in this world that he wasn’t shivering and trembling and rigid with cold anymore. The relief was as palpable as everything else and brought with it a fresh wave of anger; he could never stay mad at Benny for long, especially with how sorry he appeared. 

“Benny,” Caleb pressed, cursing as he realized his slip of the nickname, the one he only ever used when they were alone. “Here I was all these months, sorry for ya pining like a lovesick puppy after Washington, and here ya are now, tellin’ me that it was all just a lie.”

Ben’s head snapped up. “He’s right here, Caleb, if you haven’t noticed. And I haven’t  _lied_ exactly. A lot of it was guilt and self-loathing and this dreadful,  _dreadful_ fear that I would lose everything, you and George and my life, but losing the two of you would make my life worth nothing…,” he choked, trying to hold back a sob and Caleb’s heart clenched. 

Washington held up a calming hand to Ben, his soothing “Benjamin” far more affectionate than Caleb would have ever believed possible. He turned fully toward Caleb and there seemed nothing stern about him, just open and patient and so inviting and Caleb knew he could trust their General with all of this, as with everything else. “I do not wish to intrude on the relationship you have with Ben, Lieutenant Brewster.” He moved away from Ben somewhat to emphasize his point, eyes alight with the most tantalizing fire. “I only hope to  _add_ to it.”

Could the way Washington was looking at Caleb, along with hopeful and affectionate, be described as  _ravenous?_

Caleb was never much one for shying away. “In this here tent, General Washington, you’ll address me as Caleb and Caleb only.”

Washington’s lips twitched. “Then you will call me George.”

Two sets of eyes drew him in and help him suspended, two sets of hands that proved as eager with their touch as they were with their love and their trust.

And Caleb was home.

**FIN**

 

 


End file.
